Unearthed Poem

The moon is a tulip tonight,
rare and stuck to the
tar black sky, wind pushes
it but it’s stuck dumb in
the middle of fat clouds
that won’t birth–and I lay
wrapped in sheets instead
of facing it.
Stars speckle the sky,
quivering scared from the
same nameless faceless fear
that keeps me inside—so
we sit soft as petals and
undulate against a nothing-
ness to remind ourselves
we’re alive.
Because the night doesn’t
know me, doesn’t know my
meager love and worship
of sky deities–doesn’t know
I exist. Existing for no one.
So why should I.

Written in 2007-2008..ish. Found in an old journal. Might pop up again revised.

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